The longing in her voice is impossible to dampen.
‘We said it was a one-off,’ he continues.
She laughs.
‘Some one-off.’
‘I know. The thing is Heather. When it comes to you…. One-offs? I just … I just can’t.’
What’s the right response? Me neither? She lifts her head and they kiss. A long, lingering kiss. She can feel him through his chinos and the corresponding reaction in her underwear. There’s something undeniable between them. A chemistry.
‘But neither of us wants a relationship, right? We don’t want to go there?’ She repeats the words almost verbatim, because an element of it is true.
Scott nods.
‘And we don’t want to confuse the girls,’ he says, as though perpetuating this game of denial.
‘No. Absolutely. We don’t want that.’
If there’s anything about this messy situation that Heather’s certain of, it is this. Georgia has had enough men enter theirlives and leave with no trace. She’s not about to subject her daughter to that level of rejection again.
‘So, where do we go from here?’ His eyes search hers. ‘Because the one thing I know is that I don’t want this to never happen again.’
The idea of never feeling his body, tight against hers, feels like an affront.
‘Me neither.’
Her throat is taut, her voice tight.
‘So what, then? We agree that this is just something we do? Two consenting adults. Not wanting anything more?’
His fingers are on the buttons of her dress.
‘Mid-lifers who know what they want in life,’ she adds, as she fumbles with the button at his waist. Because what’s the harm? What’s therealharm?
He unfastens her dress and slips his hand into her underwear. She gasps.
‘Scott. My train’s in—‘
His lips find hers, stifling the objection.
‘There’s time,’ he says, withdrawing his fingers. He places his hands under each of her thighs, lifts her to straddle him and walks them both towards the sofa.
She very nearly misses her train.
SCOTT
Closing the door to an empty home just about knocks Scott for six when he returns after dropping Heather at the train station. How’s it possible for a woman he’s known only six months to consume him like this? The one thing he knows for certain is he’s glad there’s an agreement between them where they can stillsee each other. Imagine coming home to this sense of solitude if, alongside it, was an understanding that Heather would no longer be in his life in that way? The idea is intolerable. A tiny inkling of a question about his all-consuming desire to spend more time with her needles him, but he doesn’t let his brain go there. He can’t. It’s good for now. It’s enough.
He slumps on the sofa and glances at his phone. Lorraine. Another three missed – or ignored – calls. What must Heather think when she hears the litany of pings and alerts coming from his phone during their most intimate moments? That she trusts him when he says “it’s not what you think” is testament to the belief she has in him. But, like him, Heather’s been hurt in the past – there’s only so long he can get away with fobbing her off – and he knows it. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, but Scott opens his drinks cupboard, finds his twenty-five-year-old malt and pours himself a generous measure. If he’s going to do this, he will need some sustenance. He replaces the lid on the bottle, throws the measure down his throat. Winces. Then dials.
His former sister-in-law answers on the second ring and greets him with a frank, ‘About bloody time.’
‘Lorraine. I’m sorry. It just felt … It felt too soon,’ he says.
There’s a pause down the line. Lorraine will not be expecting to hear his vulnerabilities offered up so freely.
‘I know. I get it,’ she says. ‘The thing is, Scott. It’s time whether we’re ready for it or not. Ten … twelve weeks, tops. And taking this next step is essential for us all.’
